03/05/05 Week late and breathing. I did not realize exactly how much I am exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I am planting seeds for the next exploration in art with my fears. Searching porn and online connections finding alternative lifestyles among the normal.

Anyway, that is a little heady crap and I am writing from fear. Not interested in writing this, finishing this piece, laying it to rest, what will happen to me?

b L o o m d a i L y

Sunday was beautiful. I sat in black latex and purple glitter. The glitter held to the latex wonderful and I was warm and solid even without the heater, set, quiet, gallery closed, being.

Geez I am horny and scared. Silent, peaceful, solid absolutely ok with what is within and when I am without.

I set.

L--- and L-- arrive and get settled. They have begun a routine, check me, check lights, take photos, and bring me heater.

I am not here. I do not feel it. I struggle little; I am shining, and content, exactly as it should be.

I sit.

L-- begins playing music; L--- is taking care of gallery business. I begin a shift from sitting facing off the bud of “fLower” and genuflect beside “fLower;” homage to my church background, catholic boy, unpracticed lost and wayward, humbling himself to come home.

And I rise and step up on “fLower” base; I am beginning.

Arms raise and I begin to spin, slow. Fabric across my shoulders in my hands lies across “fLower” over the bud and into the small gallery. Sheer fabric similar to flower wrappings, death cloth, cheesecloth, light, airy, allowing viewing, softening experience, hazing perspective.

I am gathering the fabric about me as I spin, slow, easy, arms outstretched. I am pulling the wrappings hazing perspective off the bud, off the “fLower,” gathering it around me, binding me, and exposing it. My sculpture is coming to a close I am forever bound to it as it is and was; no longer changing with it. I am bound to its exposure now clearly set for examination.

What is this experience?

What is this concept?

Materials gather round my legs, and I begin to struggle with it. Finding my place within these binds. Where do I go? How can I leave?

Materials pull me in, focus on feet, balance, and stance. Wrapping up into myself, pulling me from object. I object into myself.

Revealed, exposed, and fully open, some boundary, wrapping binding me keeping others out concealing me safely, an ability to live.

3 is God and 4 is to live.

Naked, Nude, naked leaves me fully open to receive God in each moment absolutely weak and vulnerable.

3 this power is made perfect through me, gathering around me, holding in its hands, arms, guidance. This gift conceals me as it binds around me.

This receipt (receiving) keeps me a sheer fabric away from others that I may live with others. 4 is of earth, mother.

Hmmmm…nice.